


Exposure Therapy

by kira892



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Hurt and comfort, M/M, traumatized bart, wally is not dead au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kira892/pseuds/kira892
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Last week, you freaked out because of me. You were sitting close by watching us train, and when the armor formed the canon, you flipped.”</p><p>Though flipped might not have been the right word. Flipped would’ve meant flailing and screaming. Bart sort of did the opposite. At first at least. And it’s amazing how it got the same reaction or possibly worse out of Jaime. He felt the same immediate stab of fear when Cassie had flown over from when she was dodging projectiles from Tigress and asked “Bart, what’s wrong?” that he would’ve felt if Bart had fallen off the bench he was sitting on and screamed at the top of his lungs. He felt the same, bone deep rush of cold dread when he looked over to see Bart staring straight ahead, pale as a sheet and trembling slightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposure Therapy

It’s a rainy Saturday morning when Jaime makes the flight from Texas to Missouri. It usually takes him about an hour and a half in the suit but this time, he arrives just under two, having spent the majority of his flight having an intense internal debate with himself and the scarab about whether or not he should really be doing this. Ultimately, his decision was made when he flew face first into a plane while he was distracted with yelling at Khaji Da and sped away, zipping towards Central city as fast as he could go, embarrassed and praying that the pilots don’t spot whatever it was that slammed directly into their cockpit.

In total, the journey from El Paso to the Allen household took about 2 hours and 50 minutes. It would’ve been 2 hours and 20 if he hadn’t spent half an hour dithering on the front lawn, staring at the damp stains on the edges of the front steps left behind by the most recent shower, telling himself maybe he ought to wait juuust a little bit longer before he rang the doorbell.

“They’re probably all still asleep. It’s only like, 10 AM.”

He had murmured at the 2 hour, 46 minute mark and just as he turned to walk away and fly back home, Khaji, ever so helpful whenever Jaime desperately needed him _not_ to be, piped up.

_Several bodies identified. Heart rate and infrared indicate that all are fully conscious and functioning._

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Unfortunately for him, it was at that moment that the door had opened and Joan Garrick had invited him in. Jaime of course graciously accepted her offer to come inside because despite how much he sort of desperately wanted to flee, his mom raised him never to turn down nice old ladies.

And that’s how he finds himself here now, awkwardly shuffling behind Joan while desperately trying not to look like it as she leads him down the hall. She doesn’t ask him why he came over, having gotten used to his presence over the years through the many, many visits (spontaneous and otherwise) and sleepovers with Bart he’d spent at their house. Instead, she makes small talk about the cookies she’s currently baking in the kitchen, the weather and relaying the story of how she decided to take Bart to spend the day at the Allen’s while Jay and some person named Max fixed several leaks in the roof. The mention of Bart increases the urge to run out the door and fly away but Jaime firmly tamps it down.

“How is he? Did you two get here alright?”

Joan laughs at that as they turn the corner, away from the living room. “Oh, the trip was fine. For me that is. It was a 20 minute drive. He had his phone and a tablet to distract him but still he complained most of the way here. He was grumpy for a little bit but I think he’s doing much better now.” she says just as they arrive at the stairs that lead up to the second floor of the house.

Jaime could hear the faint sound of yelling coming from above, familiar sounds, not unlike what he used to hear when Milagro was younger and his baby cousins came over to play.

Joan cups a hand over her mouth and calls out, “Bart! Sweetie, there’s a young man here to see you. He stood on the lawn for almost half an hour-”

Jaime looks at her in surprise, immediately mortified. He opens his mouth to spew out an excuse but she continues before he could, suddenly switching to a slight western accent.

“-he said somethin about asking for your hand in marriage.”

The mortification amps up and is joined by bafflement and he spends so long wondering just what the hell that’s supposed to mean that before he could think of a thing to say, Bart is hobbling around the corner. The look of curiosity on his face changes to delight when he sees Jaime who feels a twinge of guilt, trying hard not to frown or look as concerned as he feels when Bart maneuvers down the stairs as fast as he can. Which is really not fast at all given his current condition and the cane that just makes going down the stairs even harder than it needs to be. Bart hardly seems to notice, grinning as he parrots back the accent that Joan just used.

“Oh happy day Joan! Oh I thought I was gonna have to spend my dowry on booze and pills to numb the loneliness-”

Bart almost crashes right into him in his haste to get down and Jaime immediately goes to steady him, blinking in surprise when Bart drapes an arm over his shoulder and leans in quickly to whisper “Quick, pick me up, suit up and fly upstairs.”

He says “just do it, this is so important.” in an insistent whisper when Jaime asks why so (with some reluctance) he does, Joan’s laughter floating up behind them as Jaime carefully flies up with Bart clinging to him like an excited damsel, yelling “A gentleman caller, hooray!”

“What the heck was that about ese?” Jaime asks after they disappear behind the corner Bart came from, carefully setting Bart on his feet.

“I was watching Easy A in the car earlier with no headphones on.” Bart says with a shrug. He’s still smiling and now that it’s just the two of them, the twinge of guilt returns, strong and awful as it twists up his insides. This is the first time in about a week that he’s seen Bart since the incident at the gym and he’s looking at Jaime like it never happened but still, Jaime could see the wide green eyes that looked at him with such pure, unadulterated terror. And he can’t get rid of the image even now, as the very same ones look at him with the same happy fondness he’s gotten used to over the years.

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Bart asks as he limp-walks down the hall, in the direction of the loud voices. The twins most definitely. An older male voice pops up here and there; their dad, Jaime is assuming.

“I just wanted to check on you. Are you uhh, alright?”

_Scans show that the Impulse has no sign of severe physical injury. Diagnosis: Psychosomatic pain_

_I **know** that! That’s not what I meant. _ Jaime thinks vehemently.

Bart doesn’t pause or look over his shoulder as he answers. “I’m okay.”

Jaime frowns, staring intently at the back of Bart’s head and trying to drown out the sound of him hyperventilating, the few sobs that must’ve wreaked havoc on his lungs as they tore their way out in between gasping breaths. Batgirl’s voice echoes loud in his ears, the alarm clear as day on her face as she shoves him away.

 _Blue, please, power down and just get_ away _from him!_

“Bart,” he calls out tentatively. He wanted to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him but didn’t dare try.

“Hmm?”

 

“I’m sorry about-”

He would’ve expected Bart to jump in with a cheery, confused “about what?”, layering on the fake, peachy attitude until everything goes away. Part of Jaime actually wanted him to but he’s relieved when Bart doesn’t. Instead, he finally stops, turns and looks Jaime in the eye.

“Blu-...Jaime. It’s okay. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

When he’s met by silence on Jaime’s end, Bart tilts his head to the side and asks. “Comprende?”

Jaime startles them both a little with a laugh. “Your accent is still horrible.”

Bart puts on an exaggeratedly offended expression and puts a hand to his chest. “I do say sir, that is not how you talk to a lady.” he says, reverting to the fake western accent.

“No, stop that. That accent is worse than your Spanish.”

“You keep them insults comin, you won’t be gettin my dowry sir.” Bart says, leaning on his cane and jutting his hip out to the side, wagging a finger in Jaime’s face.

The sound of tiny feet thundering towards them, hardly muffled by the carpet, makes them both turn. Dawn and Don Allen, who both must’ve been trying very unsuccessfully to sneak up on Bart, start shrieking the moment they see that they’ve been spotted. They run straight for him as fast as their tiny legs could go and Jaime is glad that the two don’t seem to have developed their powers yet and only make Bart stumble a little when they end up running right into his legs. Bart has to quickly put a hand over his knee to serve as padding between it and Don’s face who only giggles as his cheek bounces off his future son’s palm.

“Bart! Bart!”

The twins are barely 2 years old and they’re learning to speak but they don’t quite get the hang of saying words yet. R’s are one of the letters they have trouble with and out of their mouths, Bart’s name sounds like “Bwaht”

Dawn says something like “Bart we missed you!” while Don simultaneously yells something about Bart needing to save them from a monster, Jaime isn’t sure. He’s missing a few words and misusing tenses. It’s been a while since Milagro managed to first learn how to speak flawless, coherent English and he’s out of practice decoding baby speak.

There’s a blur and a short, sudden breeze and suddenly Dawn and Don are screeching in delight as they’re suddenly scooped up and held securely against someone’s chest. Someone tall with bright red hair.

Jaime blinks once as he finds himself face to face with Wally West. So that’s who the other voice was, the cousin, not the dad. It’s been almost 5 months since Wally turned up not dead but still it was somewhat of a shock to see him. For his part, the older speedster seems just as surprised to see Jaime there. His brow furrows and Jaime feels a pang of nervousness, wondering if Wally was upset in any way with him for Bart’s panic attack in the gym.

The twist of his lips seem to point more toward confusion than anger though and Jaime breathes out a silent sigh of relief when Wally simply asks. “Blue Beetle right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Wally nods once and shifts Dawn up to sit on his shoulder where she immediately busies herself with playing with his hair. It’s longer now than it was three years ago when he disappeared and Dawn buries her tiny hands in it, smiling as she twists her fingers in the wavy red strands. “Wally has pretty haiiir.” She coos.

“Just like you Dawnie.” Wally says, jostling her once and making her giggle. He turns to Jaime afterward and nothing in his expression indicates anything even remotely close to concealed animosity but still Jaime feels nervous all over again.

“How you doing? Is there something wrong? Not that it’s not good to see you, but why are you here?”

Somehow “I just want to see how Bart is doing” didn’t seem like the right thing to say and before Jaime could overthink it, he opens his mouth and says “I just wanted to talk to Bart over something.” He stutters a little over the next few words that spill out, almost out of their own volition. “I. uh-I’m sorry about last w-”

His sentence sharply transitions into an expletive that would’ve earned him a cuff to the head from his mom when Bart suddenly thwacks him in the shin with his cane.

“Stop that.” Bart says firmly, eyes narrowed slightly into a glare.

Wally darts a quick glance between the two of them and Jaime suddenly feels uncomfortably transparent even though he’s pretty sure Wally (or anyone for that matter) doesn’t know about him and Bart.

“Right. Well, it sure looks like you guys have something to talk about. Good luck.”

He walks away before either of them could say anything, the twins still held securely in his arms. Wally distracts them with the promise of popcorn, kitkat bars and uninterrupted TV time to keep them from noticing that they’re being pulled away from Bart who they were very glad to see and whose attention they were probably very much planning to monopolize just a few seconds ago.

Jaime tries not to focus on the silence between him and Bart after they leave, instead listening intently to the sound of the twins giggling and egging him on as Wally hops down the stairs and Joan’s voice greeting the twins happily with them responding ecstatically in return.

“It’s rare to see Wally without Nightwing these days. Does he visit often?”

“Jaime really? I was like, a gold medalist at diversion and changing the subject. That’s not going to work on me.”

“Okay but really though, don’t you find it weird that Nightwing is dating your cousin now?”

He gets another thwack to the shin in response.

“Ow! Alright, I’m sorry. Jeez, when did you get so hit-y? You’re too young to be hitting people in the shin with your walking stick.”

Jaime says, reaching down to rub at the stinging spot at his shin that might possibly bruise later. Jeez, Bart is not happy with him. The thought gives him pause, making him consider how Bart must be feeling right now. The words he’s heard a few weeks ago, a few days after Bart came out of surgery and was proclaimed fully intact physically only 15 minutes later, start bouncing around in his head and it was all he could do not to drop to his knees and apologize until his throat is raw.

_Psychosomatic pain_

_Trauma induced_

_Emotional relapse_

_Sypmptoms of PTSD_

Bart hasn’t said a word to him about it and he only knew about the diagnosis on why Bart was limping around and feeling pain when no test or scan could spot any flaw in his physical well-being from Batman, when he announced to the team that Bart would be temporarily out of commission. Other than the incident at the gym and a few frustrated outbursts in the beginning, Bart seems to be doing mostly okay.

It hasn’t been that long to everybody else but to a speedster, it probably feels like it’s been months and at this point, Bart is either just on the halfway mark to recovery or just about ready to snap. Jaime honestly couldn’t tell which one. Beastboy told him a little while ago that he overheard Black Canary talking with Leslie Thompkins and a Psychiatrist and the three of them are guessing that Bart suffered an intensely traumatic physical injury, in the future and getting shot in the knee must have bought it all back. Jaime doesn’t know if he should believe him or not. It makes sense but he knows he kind of doesn’t want to believe it.

“Can I just-“ his voice comes out soft but rough, like his throat was fighting to keep the words back and Jaime clears it briefly, taking a deep breath afterward to steel himself. “Can I just ask you one thing? And please tell me the truth.”

The words feel like they’re attached to strings, strings that invisible hands tug on, weak but insistent, trying to pull them back into his mouth. Jaime fights it though, telling himself firmly that he should’ve had this talk with Bart not last week, not when they started dating but years ago, after Bart came to the past to save him and the rest of the world. There would be no dancing around it now, no reluctant acceptance of Bart’s preemptive, unconditional forgiveness, he’s going to come right out and ask.

“Did I hurt you in the future? Like me directly. Did the moded Blue Beetle ever hit you, or shoot at you or anything like that?”

Bart’s lips immediately part and almost as quicky, his jaw snaps shut, eyebrows furrowing. Jaime could see him hesitating and his heart sinks.

“Beetle shot at the ground next to me once. He did that all the time to scare sla-…people though.”

“Is that all he ever did?” Jaime almost stumbles over the middle of his question, barely missing swapping he out for I, not wanting Bart to shut down now that he’d gotten a little of gritty, unpleasant truth out of him.

Bart’s eyes slide away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So it shouldn’t make a difference whether you tell me or not right?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Bart. Please.”

Jaime carefully steps forward and reaches for Bart’s free hand, the one that isn’t wrapped around the cane. He makes sure his grip is gentle and he strokes his thumb, featherlight over Bart’s knuckles.

“Last week, you freaked out because of me. You were sitting close by watching us train, and when the armor formed the canon, you flipped.”

Though flipped might not have been the right word. Flipped would’ve meant flailing and screaming. Bart sort of did the opposite. At first at least. And it’s amazing how it got the same reaction or possibly worse out of Jaime. He felt the same immediate stab of fear when Cassie had flown over from when she was dodging projectiles from Tigress and asked “Bart, what’s wrong?” that he would’ve felt if Bart had fallen off the bench he was sitting on and screamed at the top of his lungs. He felt the same, bone deep rush of cold dread when he looked over to see Bart staring straight ahead, pale as a sheet and trembling slightly.

The wild panic in his eyes and the weak but instinctive flinch-jerk motion of his body when Jaime touched him felt the same as a punch and an alarmed yell of “GET AWAY FROM ME” would’ve he was sure.

“I might’ve seen him do terrible things to other people. And he might’ve been the cause of a few scrapes and bruises. But nothing more than that.”

Bart’s tiny reassurance does absolutely nothing and Jaime’s sure it shows on his face because Bart moves closer, possibly to hug him. Jaime steps away, shaking his head. He puts both hands to his face and takes a deep, loud breath.

“Oh god. Should we really be doing this?” He asks lowering his hands enough that he could look at Bart.

There’s a hint of worry lingering in the downturned corners of his mouth and it becomes much more pronounced when Jaime continues.

“Us I mean.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

He’s been feeling constantly like punching himself in the face ever since the gym incident happened and the look Bart gives him at that makes him feel like throwing in a few kicks and an energy blast for good measure.

“No! Maybe? I don’t know.”

“t’noduoyevolem?”

It came out too fast and almost in a squeak but still, the scarab heard it perfectly and helpfully rights the backwards words and feeds them to Jaime’s brain. Jaime looks at Bart, stunned and Bart’s eyes find his feet.

“Sorry. I hung out with Zatanna for an hour a few days ago and we were talking with backwards words the whole time because I could and she thought it was cute. I got really nervous so I sorta just. That just kind of came out.”

“I do. I- yeah, I really do.”

He feels something as he speaks and he can’t quite put a word to it. It feels like it’s too many things at once, all trying to take up space in his chest. He does know though, that whatever it is, he sees it reflected back when Bart looks up at him, green eyes hopeful and all the more worried because of it. It’s making this conversation even harder to have but Jaime pushes through.

“Which is why I’m wondering if I should maybe stay away. At the very least, until you’re better.”

Bart jolts forward and grabs his hand as if Jaime was going to bolt and Jaime’s breath catches in his throat.

“Bart! Cookies are ready! Bring Jaime down and come have some!”

Joan’s voice calls out sweetly. Bart looks to the direction of the stairs, a beat passes and then to Jaime’s surprise, he cups a hand beside his mouth and calls back “Okay! Be down in a minute.” He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Jaime as he limps as quickly as he could, towards the stairs.

_This behavior indicates that the Impulse is angry at you._

The scarab, ever so helpful, provides to the question he didn’t even have to ask.

“Naww, you think?” Jaime mutters under his breath, moving swiftly forward in an almost jog to catch up to Bart. Even if the scarab hadn’t spoken, the way that Bart bats his hands away before they could even touch him and says “I got it, I don’t need help.” when Jaime tries to offer to carry him down the stairs would’ve spelled out in big bold letters that Bart is pissed at him.

Jaime follows him down the stairs hesitantly and lingers at the bottom, watching as Bart hobbles into the kitchen without him, still without hardly a glance or an acknowledgment that he’s even aware Jaime is still there. This was his idea but still, he can’t help thinking it a little bit strange, the slight wave of nausea he felt, the hollow space that seems to be slowly forming somewhere in his middle, sucking up his guts and making itself bigger by the second.

_Recommended course of action: leave and let tempers cool down._

It says something about how out of his depth he was in this situation, or maybe it just says something about how sadly inept he is at handling relationship problems that he’s taking advice from the scarab of all people but either way, Jaime accepts what a tragedy it is and silently flees, going back up the stairs and sneaking out through a window so that Joan and Wally wouldn’t hear him go.

He makes a mental note to send Wally a text or something later on, to apologize for leaving so suddenly and another one to apologize in person to Joan when or if he ever sees her again.

 

===================================

He planned to stick to the scarab’s advice, he really did. Initially, he told himself that he would wait for at least a week, give Bart some space before talking to him again. He didn’t even ask about him when he sent the text to Wally he told himself he would. And Wally didn’t bring him up either, probably sensing that they had some sort of fallout and not wanting to get involved….or secretly being pissed that Jaime went and hurt his cousin. Again. He didn’t _sound_ upset when he replied and he also didn’t say anything along the lines of “Bart isn’t sleeping or eating, what did you do?” so Jaime was just going to leave him be.

He holds out for about two days before getting worried and deciding to text Bart. Jaime spends most of the day deciding what to say and pretends to lock himself up in his room with homework after dinner so that he wouldn’t get distracted or be tempted to change his mind.

His parents easily believe him about the 8 page essay he really had to work on after helping with the dishes and he barely manages not to run up the stairs to his room.

A heart attack almost happens when he opens the door and finds someone sitting on his bed. Jaime doesn’t quite power up and aim a canon at the invader’s face but it’s a near thing. It’s a very near thing.

“What the- Bart?!”

He hears himself ask. The boy on his bed, who appears to be none other than the one he’s been meaning to text this evening, just gives him a somewhat pinched looking smile and an awkward wave to match. Jaime blinks once, twice. When he shakes his head and clenches his eyes shut only to find Bart still very much there, he quickly sticks his head back out into the hall, listens intently for the sounds of his family still down stairs and rushes back into the room. The door is shut as quickly and silently as he could manage and he turns the lock just in case.

When he turns back, Bart is just as he was a few seconds before; sitting at the foot of Jaime’s bed with his cane leaning against his knee. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a Flash hoodie and doesn’t appear to be sleep deprived or upset. He’s watching Jaime a little nervously, like he’s the one who did something wrong. Something lurches in Jaime’s gut.

“How did you get up here?” Jaime asks.

Bart shrugs. “I have friends with superpowers.”

“Ah.” Jaime offers dumbly, wondering which person on the team decided to sneak Bart out of the house and bring him here and how much they knew about the situation.

“About the other day…are we, you know, actually officially not a thing anymore?”

“Uhh,” is Jaime’s oh so eloquent answer. Which actually deserves that word since it’s a more or less perfect approximation of what was going on in his brain in response to the question. A moment of total chaos swarms his thoughts, with all sorts of tangled feelings, half of which point to no while the other half point to yes. Before he could even try to make sense of any of them, Bart is speaking again.

“Did you want to break up just because you’re worried that being around you isn’t good for me? Or is there another reason?”

Bart’s eyes look huge and apprehensive as he reaches the end of his question. Jaime’s instinctual reaction was to put his hands up and back away, until he realized what Bart is asking.

“No. Ese, there is no other reason, I promise.”

“So, if it wasn’t for this,” Bart says, pointing back and forth between his head and his knee. “You wouldn’t want to stop being my boyfriend?”

For a few seconds Jaime hears his own heart beat so loudly in his ears, all he could do is nod.

Bart studies him, the nervousness in them fading away to be replaced with something that makes holding his gaze suddenly difficult, something that makes him look much older than his years. It’s a look that held the kind of intensity that still slips into Bart’s expression every once and a while, the one that made whoever is looking at him suddenly remember and believe without a doubt that he had to grow up too fast and has seen and lived through things most grown-ups in _this_ world, wouldn’t be able to handle probably.

“I’m tired. Do you mind if I just sleep here?”

A small, puzzled frown forms on Jaime’s face and he opens his mouth to speak but Bart beats him to it.

“Please?”

That gives him pause and pushes the idea of refusal back. Bart hardly ever said please. Usually, he just went and did things or he said it just before getting impatient and doing whatever he wanted regardless of anyone’s approval. So whatever it is he’s up to right now, he’s serious about it.

Jaime looks over his shoulder at his closed door, opens and closes his mouth and finally, hesitantly nods.

“Sure.”

Bart gives him a small smile, puts his cane down on the floor and slowly tilts sideways, sliding up towards the pillows and resting his head just on the edge of the left one, the one that Jaime always sleeps on. He closes his eyes. After a moment or two of hesitation, Jaime goes to sit at the foot of the bed and watches him for a little while. Bart appears to actually go to sleep right there on his bed and Jaime observes the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the curves of his fingers where they lay half curled next to his face. His jaw is sharper, and the faint freckles that have ghosted his cheeks before are completely gone.

God he’s really not a kid anymore and Jaime’s known him for long enough now that he doesn’t feel weird or embarrassed at all anymore about realizing how beautiful he is.

Jaime reaches over and carefully brushes some hair out of Bart’s eyes, watching in silent fascination at the way his lashes flutter every other second. He stays there for a little while longer before going to sit at his desk to browse the net for a while. He contemplates sending Wally a text before discarding the idea. He’s at a little bit of a loss of what to do and he thinks that someone somewhere would definitely be worried. But hey It’s Bart, this is hardly the first time he threw a wrench in his plans before turning them inside out while somehow managing to blow things up along the way. Sometimes it takes a long time to set things right again after Bart pulls something like this so Jaime decides that thinking about what to do about this strange little situation could wait at least until Bart is awake.

Which turns out, wouldn’t possibly be until tomorrow. By the time midnight rolls around and Bart is still softly snoring on his bed, Jaime sets his alarm back two hours with a small, resigned sigh, figuring it’s more than enough time to sneak Bart out of the house without alerting his parents or Milagro. He goes to his closet to get enough blankets to make a makeshift bed on the floor and gets about 4 heaped into his arms when he hears a soft rustle and his name, being uttered by a voice rough with sleep.

He turns to find Bart watching him through lidded eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Making a nest to sleep on.”

Bart makes a vaguely interested noise and yawns, rubbing at one eye. “Why? You have a bed.”

“It’s currently occupied.”

Bart drops his hand and the eye he was just rubbing slowly reopens. “So? There’s definitely room for you in here.” Bart says as he blinks, eyes opening all the way. They gaze at him steadily, way more alert for someone who’d just been awake for like 2 seconds and watching as the hesitation clouds his features. A hand lifts from the mess of blankets that Bart has since made out of the ones Jaime thought to drape over him about an hour after he fell asleep and reaches towards him.

“Come on. I’ll even let you be the big spoon if you want.”

That coaxes a smile out of Jaime who hesitantly puts the blankets back and shuts the closet door. “What if I wanted to be the small spoon?”

“Fine by me. You’re better for it anyway, you’re getting shorter every day.”

“Hey.” Jaime protests, even as he carefully climbs into the space between the blanket and the bed that Bart clears for him. “I’m a perfectly decent height. You’re just growing like a giraffe.”

“Oooh a giraffe. What a very poetic compliment Mr. Reyes.” Bart says, pulling Jaime flush against him as soon as he settles down.

Jaime finds himself unable to answer, suddenly too aware of the familiar pleasant warmth of Bart against him, the solid shape of his chest and arms that Jaime had grown accustomed to. He’s also all too aware of the scarab, trapped between them and pressed right up against Bart’s heart. Even if it was through their clothes, Jaime feels it and is suddenly unsettled by it in a way he’s never been. There’s been a faint worry before sure but that was before. Bart means something else to him now and-

“Do you want to know something?”

Bart’s voice is quiet and goosebumps break out on the back of Jaime’s neck where his words brush against his skin in a soft puff of warm air.

“Hm?”

“I’ve been having nightmares on and off since I got shot. I’ve been having them every night this week.”

Jaime frowns and tries to get up but Bart’s arms tighten around him, preventing him from moving away.

“Funny though, I slept just fine here, knowing that you’d be close by the whole time.”

Jaime goes very still at that, his frown rapidly fading.

“You probably thought I’m afraid of you. Even if I don’t know it. But I’m not. Everything in me knows it, I know it even when I’m literally asleep. You make me better, not worse.”

Jaime’s chest suddenly feels a little too small, too fragile for all the things he’s feeling and it’s embarrassing and stupid and a little scary. For a second he almost feels like he wants to cry but the urge passes as he takes a deep breath.

Fingertips drag across his back, sliding down until he couldn’t feel them anymore. They stop above his shoulder blades and Jaime knows that they’re still there, over the slight bump in his shirt hiding the smooth surface of the scarab.

“This isn’t you. It’s not even him, not anymore. Some small part of me is confused about that but it’ll stop. I’ll _make_ it stop because it’s wrong. And when I do, I need you with me.”

Bart presses his face against the back of Jaime’s neck and his hands find his and hold on. They’re cold but it feels good, feels _right_ to have them wrap around Jaime’s own.

“Te amo.”

Jaime’s laugh is too soft, too tender but he doesn’t care. “Your accent is so baaad. Do you do that on purpose? I swear to god.”

“Hey, I’m trying to have a real, heartfelt moment here.” Bart complains but Jaime could feel the curve of his mouth against his skin. It feels suspiciously like a smile.

“I mean it though. I need you with me, not away from me.”

Jaime goes quiet at that and if there had been a trajectory, a structure to things as they are now and how he thought they’d be in the future, in the space of one breath and the next, Bart disassembles that whole world and puts it back in a different order, leaving Jaime helpless in the wake of it, giving him no choice but to follow the new path Bart just carved out for him.

“You love me too right?”

Jaime is sure that the only way he should and could respond to that is to turn around and kiss Bart like it’s the only thing worth doing, like it’s what he should’ve been doing this whole time. Bart sighs into his mouth like he’s been holding his breath and Jaime had just knocked it right out of him then he’s kissing Jaime back with just as much fervor, hands coming up to rest against either side of his face.

Bart holds on, even as Jaime pulls away for air and he presses short lingering kisses to his lips like he just couldn’t wait until Jaime’s are back on his again. So Jaime obliges, leaning back in for another, slower kiss that leaves them both breathless and clinging to each other like they won’t let go.

“No more trying to decide what’s good for me. No more running. This is where you should be.”

Bart murmurs against his cheek before kissing it gently.

“Duh. This is my room and my bed.” Jaime says, chest too full to say anything else. He gets a playful nip to the opposite cheek in response. He laughs and weakly swats at Bart’s arm.

“I got you though. I’ll be right here, no more running.”

If he had any doubts about whether or not he’s doing the right thing, the achingly sweet smile that Bart gives him, all consuming but somehow terribly fragile at the same time, erases all of them.


End file.
